A Happy Accident
by HeartEyes4Mariska
Summary: Liv addresses her jealousy toward El's relationship with Jo Marlowe. A missing scene fic for Torch, after Jo's infamous, "Yeah ... right" line. Smutty smut. Angry sex. Strong M w a trigger warning for rough sex. Happy Holidays!


**A/N: Just a smutty one-shot, to celebrate my first year on FF! Hope you enjoy. Reviews always welcome. Don't worry, Talisman will be completed, I promise. Haha If smut is not your thing, please avoid this one! Happy Holidays/Blessed Solstice!**

 **Spoilers: Torch, Underbelly, Turmoil**

 **Rating: STRONG M for graphic sexual content**

 **Trigger Warnings: Rough Sex, Infidelity**

 **A Happy Accident**

"Jack McCoy needed to replace Cabot, so I was drafted. It's a happy accident. Speaking of Elliot – you and he ever . . . ?"

Liv looked at Jo Marlowe incredulously. "No. He's married," Olivia answered pointedly.

Jo's eyes sparkled as she chuckled. "Yeah," she said, the sarcasm palpable, "right."

Several days passed before Liv could really process what she thought Jo was implying. They were waist-deep in the fire case, and Liv was already near to the end of her rope with the new ADA's smug remarks about when she and Elliot had been partners.

Elliot could already sense a tension, and not just between the two women. Olivia had been unusually short with him, and had been skipping some of their office routines. She stopped getting him a coffee on her way in, in the morning, stopped taking lunch together when they could. He knew better than to poke the bear, so was doing his best to simply move around her, praying the storm would pass.

On the third day, Jo brought him a coffee. She sat on the corner of his desk and they talked, in conspiratorial murmurs. Liv watched them, laughing at old secrets, feeling the flush of anger creeping up her cheeks.

She slammed her desk drawers in the process of searching for paperwork, moved objects on her desk harshly – all the while chiding herself for acting like a jealous teenager. When she couldn't take it any longer, her angry push away from the desk succeeded in drawing looks from both of them. Elliot raised an eyebrow, tipping his head.

"Gotta go look for some . . . files," Liv muttered, stalking from the desk without another word.

At the end of one of the precinct hallways was a room that didn't get much use anymore. It was where boxes of papers and things like extra chairs went to die in the 1-6. This was the place Liv chose to duck into, shutting the door to pace, and mutter in frustration.

She couldn't even hate the woman – and that only made it worse. Olivia admired Jo's thoroughness, and her willingness to go against authority in the pursuit of being just. Jo Marlowe was gorgeous, and a woman who commanded a room. All of it just made Liv angrier. Elliot had been her partner for eleven years; Liv was used to everyone else naturally giving the two of them their space, and she had gotten comfortable inside the intimate bubble that they operated in, over the years.

Even though they were both well aware of them, they never talked about the rumors. Eventually, they just learned to ignore the fact that most of the NYPD assumed the two of them were having an affair. Olivia had built her trust and respect for El on the belief that he was a monogamous, pious, married man. She had struggled, with her jealousy that he had so _much_ family, when her life had mostly been so lonely. But he had never so much as told her that Jo was a woman . . . certainly, he had never hinted that the partnership had ever crossed the line.

She had too many reasons to be angry: angry that El had lied by omission, angry that her trust in him was shaken, that she had spent more than a decade playing the part of the upstanding, chaste partner when she could have had her cake, after all. Unless, of course . . . El simply didn't want her. That thought was maybe what made her most pissed of all.

"Hey." El stepped into the cluttered room, shutting the door behind him. "What the hell are you doin'?" She could tell he was annoyed, and knew that she wasn't going to avoid a fight unless she made an effort to calm down, but when she opened her mouth, her thoughts flooded out.

"You know, Stabler, I really thought you were a better man." Liv stopped pacing and put her hands on her hips as her eyes narrowed at him.

" _Excuse_ me?"

They had been partners long enough that getting his temper from 0 to 100 in no time flat was a skill. She watched as all his defenses switched on. He crossed his arms over his chest as his temper idled.

"All these years, you played me like I was an idiot. Your whole 'family man,' 'devout Catholic' act. I was really fooled. Good for you."

"Olivia, I don't-"

"Don't bother, Elliot. Your _ex_ told me all about it – you remember, the old partner you lied to me about?"

"Lied? What? I told you, I never lied . . ." he snapped, his brows furrowed in surprise and confusion.

"Okay, sorry. You're right, I can see how it would be easy to forget – for 11 years – that your ex-partner is a beautiful woman. Convenient, more like."

Elliot stepped closer to her. "Listen, I don't know what the big deal is, about me not telling you Jo is a woman! What difference would it have made, anyway?"

For a moment, he had her, and she made a disgusted noise, low in her throat. She started pacing again, turning on her heel, but El reached out and grabbed her by the upper arm. "And I don't know what Jo might have said to you, but whatever it was, it doesn't give you the right to insult my family, or my faith."

"Pfft. Okay, El," she half-rolled her eyes and yanked herself out of his grip.

"What the hell did she say to you?"

"Go fuck yourself, Elliot."

"Hey!" he had made it to a shout, and Liv was secretly pleased. "I have a right to know, _Benson_."

"Ask her yourself," Liv sniffed , "since you two are so chummy after all this time."

Elliot resisted the urge to press his fingertips to his temples in dismay. This felt like being in high school again. He and Olivia rarely fought, but when they did . . . well, he was thankful that the old room they were in was sound-proofed, anyway. He took a deep breath, changed his tone one more time, and tried again.

"Liv. C'mon. Just _talk_ to me. If Jo said something to upset you, I'm sorry. I'll even talk to her about it – but I should at least know what it was."

No. No, she refused to let him calm her down. Calm wasn't what she wanted – needed – from him. Liv took a predatory step towards him. "She _asked_ me if you and I had ever slept together - "

Late the previous year, Dickie had stared Olivia down in an interrogation room and asked her that same question, while Elliot had watched from the other side of the glass. While she didn't know it, El's face had shown the same mix of emotions that it narrowed into now: anger, embarrassment, and vaguely, guilt. It was one thing for the precinct to dream up gossip, but another entirely when people close to him asked outright, piercing the illusion of privacy that the two detectives liked to believe they enjoyed.

"- and when I pointed out that you're married," Liv went on, "well, let's just say that Jo gave me the impression that your marriage hadn't been a real obstacle. For her. In the past."

Elliot found himself momentarily struck dumb, trying to make the words fit like a toddler mashing pieces at a shapes toy. It was becoming clear why it would have changed things if he had told Liv that Jo wasn't a man. "Liv! Jo and I –"

It was just the phrase that Olivia needed to give her anger a second wind. Rolling her eyes, she put up a hand. "Save it, Stabler. I don't need any excuses, or sad stories about how 'It only happened once,' or 'it was after a really hard case and the two of you were drunk.' It's none of my business, anyway," she lied. "I guess this is just how you are with all of your women partners. Jo. Me. Dani."

Olivia took one more step towards him, close enough that she poked a finger into his chest. "Tell me, El – didja know just how she liked her coffee, and tell her to blink _her_ lights when she got home for ya, too?"

His frustrated grab of her hand almost, but not quite, succeeded in wiping away her pissy smirk. "Will you _listen_?!" he hissed, pulling her further into him. Their eyes locked. "Jo Marlowe and I never slept together!" Olivia snorted, twisting her wrist in his hand. "No. You can think that I'm a liar if it suits you – God knows, you do what you want – but I'm telling you, I _never_ cheated on my wife, Olivia."

Liv's chest was heaving with ire, with the proximity and energy of his response. "And since we're digging out old skeletons, I never fucked Dani Beck, either," he said.

"But you thought about it."

"Don't tell me what I thought! Goddammit, Benson, I thought about _you_! The whole time you were gone, I thought about you – somewhere that I couldn't protect you, that I couldn't talk to you. Ask anyone in the fucking one-six, I was useless when you went undercover. When you came back, Liv . . ." he took a deep, shuddering breath and what she saw caused her to hold hers. "It took everything I was – am – not to . . ."

Elliot cut himself off, releasing her wrist, cleared his throat. He took another deep breath, his heart thundering. "Fucking Porter," he whispered harshly, "with his goddam hands all over you."

And then Liv could breathe again, the satisfaction of his jealousy rushing into her lungs, pushing them full. She sighed, and started to cross to the door, when Elliot's hand landed heavily on her shoulder. She froze, feeling his trembling hand slide inward, tracing the slope into her neck. His fingers flexed, probing into knotted muscles there, and even that controlled contact felt possessive, somehow apologetic. Liv hummed a noise of pleasure that she hoped he couldn't hear.

"El?"

"Shut up, Liv," he replied, but his anger was now just hot lust, with no indignation left. His arm left her neck, snaking around her waist, pulling her to him in one quick yank. She gasped , and then he was the one smirking. Elliot sank his teeth into the curve his hand had just explored, the heat of her skin electric against his lips. "You feel better now?" he whispered into her ear, his tongue flicking lightly.

Olivia struggled until she was turned in his arms, then leaned in for a whisper of her own. She licked her lips , then breathed, " _Fuck me_."

The next thing Liv registered was her back, slammed against the wall, her legs pulled roughly around Elliot's waist, her arms holding on for dear life. And she could feel _everything_ : the rub of his belt buckle, the flood of her own excitement ruining her panties, his hands under her thighs like this was something they did every damn day. But his mouth – his mouth on hers birthed a metaphor that Liv devoured.

She dragged his shirt out from his waistband as she panted against his tongue, then shoved her eager hands under his shirt. Liv scratched her nails across his stomach, which was flexed and trembling – from holding her up, and from _her_. El groaned, pushing her against the wall again, fumbling with her pants.

"Christ, don't you ever wear a fucking skirt, Benson," he muttered, letting her push his hands away.

When she was naked from the waist down, and her legs back around Elliot's waist, Liv couldn't restrain the protracted mewl that escaped her. The firmness of his cock jutted against her groin made her sex clench, throb, gush. "Are you blushing, Detective?" El rumbled, then let his fingers find where she was desperate for him. "Jesus, you're _dripping_ ," he gasped.

"Fuck youu," she faltered on the last vowel, closing her eyes as her partner sank two fingers inside her. He stroked the source of her fire, breathing hot into the crook of her neck, speechless at the feel of her, slick and vise-gripped around him. Olivia worked her hands into her bra, fingertips pinching her nipples.

"No you don't," El growled, "no you fucking don't. You're mine – and you're not coming without me, either." He slipped his fingers from her as he nosed her hands away from her chest, seeking out her nipples for himself, rolling each one between his teeth, soothing them with his tongue.

Elliot thought it a point of pride that the only moment he feared he would drop her was when she got his cock free from his pants.

"No underwear?" she chuckled. "This is how you operate?"

"Not usually," he panted, "just a happy accident . . ." His echo of Jo's words from several days ago ignited the embers of her anger. Liv wrapped her hand tightly around his considerable erection, sliding the hot, smooth skin of him deliberately slow. "Olivia," El rumbled, his eyes slipping shut.

"Beg me," she told him.

He never even hesitated: "Please –"

"Please what?" She jerked him harder, could feel how slick he was, and her pussy clenched in response.

"Please, let me fuck you . . . I need to see you come."

Olivia released him, her hands going to his shoulders, urging him forward, and didn't breathe in again until he was buried completely inside her. She bit his shoulder, and muttered, " _Hard_."

It was the only instruction he needed. Elliot pounded her with hard, long strokes – both of them taking satisfaction from the slam of their bodies against the wall. There would be other times, other days, when he would take the time to wax poetical about the sanctuary that was her wet heat, but right then, all he wanted was to manage an orgasm each, without getting caught.

Luckily, the combination of jealousy, anger, and their time-sensitive situation had worked to speed things up considerably. Liv bit him again - surely hard enough to leave a bruise – in an effort to stifle her want to scream, her eyes rolling God-ward, loving his grunts, the strength of his arms on her, his cock filling her, as it all crescendoed into one giant throb.

"Jesus . . . Liv . . . oh Christ," El hissed, with a last slam, into her and the wall, his orgasm matching the fury of their tempers.

He let her down slowly, allowing them to catch their breath, kneading his fingers reassuringly against the curve of her hips. After a minute, he pressed light kisses to the side of her neck, her cheek, then her lips. They broke from each other, dressing hastily. When she was finally dressed, and started for the door, he spoke again:

"Hey. Y'think you could bring me a coffee tomorrow? Whatever Jo brought me is all fucked up."

Liv flashed him a last, relaxed smile, and closed the door behind her without answering – but, he knew she would. She knew just how he liked it, after all.


End file.
